


Protégé

by frabjousday (frabjous)



Category: Blade (1998), Blade (Movie Series), Blade: Trinity (2004)
Genre: Community: fanfic100, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-13
Updated: 2010-07-13
Packaged: 2017-10-10 13:02:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frabjous/pseuds/frabjousday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She met him once. Pre-Blade Trinity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Protégé

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: 093 Thanksgiving

The day her excavation team found the burial site Danica was wearing her favourite black pumps. She assembled them in the conference room before making her entrance. She stood at the head of the table assessing each member of her House with a wry expression. "We've found it," she finally announced. "We're flying in two hours."

Almost immediately their bodies tensed, fangs bared in adrenalin; they glanced at her before looking back at each other with trepidation. She saw they were weak, holding onto human fears even as they towed the party line, jumping at shadows because they were afraid of what they might find in the dark. They called themselves vampires – pathetic. She could see why it was so easy for Blade to pick them off.

"Get to work," she snarled, cutting off any possibility disagreement. They scurried out of their boardroom ergonomic swivel chairs and scattered to do the jobs they'd been trained and paid for. Anyone having second thoughts would have a heel through their fucking skull and whatever's left stuck on a pike.

And there was Asher. He stepped behind her and dug his fingers into her back and she knew it was good because hurt. She let out a sigh.

"Congratulations," he said. His fingers bruised her skin, but she healed as quickly as the marks were being made. She leaned back a little and closed her eyes. "You're tense," he stated as he massaged her shoulders. Her mind more taut than her back; she was wound tight and waiting to spring at a moment's notice.

"Of course I'm tense," she snapped, but her voice betrayed her excitement. Everything was finally falling into place.

*

Two hours later she sat on her private jet, swilling a glass of fresh-bled Type O, it all finally sank in and it felt good to be right. A big Fuck You to the Purebloods who were tenaciously still holding power in New York, who'd laughed her off about Drake and the Vampire Bible. Scoffed about her plans to kill Blade. Frost's name was a verb now – "Don't do a Deacon," they'd said, laughter in the corners of their eyes and lips.

Danica decided she'd raise a toast to Deacon fucking Frost and that everyone else should too. The human was already pale, but she managed to bleed out just enough to fill every wine glass.

She'd met Frost once, before he was famous and got chopped up by Blade. A lot of her working relationships seemed to end that way.

She saw the appeal. He reminded her of King – he had a mouth and an endearing need to prove himself to the world. A Pureblood's plaything before he made that name for himself and bought up big downtown, at least those were the rumours. It was all Danica could do to not to see for herself how much it took to break a man like that.

She touched her left wrist. She didn't know if Frost was marked – those who kiss and tell didn't stay alive for long – but she was. Of course that used to matter a lot more before Frost killed the Chicago Council and scared the shitless every Pureblood from here to Moscow. He'd come close with La Magra – no, he'd done more than close – but Blade, like always, had been there to fuck everything up.

Danica pressed her lips together. They needed to deal with Blade yesterday.

"To Deacon Frost," she raised her glass. "I hope you're watching us from Hell."

*

There is a harddrive in her safe that only holds about 16 Gigabytes of data, but that was more than enough. She's made copies of course, but she'd felt uncharacteristically sentimental and kept Frost's original backup.

The harddrive had come at a not insignificant sum from one of his better-kept familiars, a vague but shrewd boy who obviously knew the value of information. He'd wanted money and he'd wanted political power and last Danica heard he was cosy with the old blood in Europe. Smart boy wanted to be on the winning side.

The Purebloods, in their wisdom, had passed up all the knowledge and the research and seemed content to divide up his real estate, and treat the affair like a bad dream. Never mind that Frost achieved everything they'd thought impossible. Purebloods turning their backs on their own histories while ex-familiar upstarts kidnapped famous linguists to interpret what they'd forgotten; you couldn't get more ironic than that.

The first time she'd opened up the computer program and saw the whole translation laid out before her she felt the same triumph that buzzed through her now. La Magra was only a fraction of what the Bible had to say, and the program had only been a fraction of what was on the drive.

She'd poured over his files and pieced together how he'd built a kingdom from nothing. Networked security, scientific research, influential familiars, medical and business investments, and a whole surveillance team dedicated to Blade – he'd been a visionary, but she also saw his mistakes and where she'd do better.

Frost had once described himself as a student of history. Danica wondered if she could call herself a student of Deacon Frost.

*

Danica remembered the appeal. Cold eyes, ruthless ambition. Control. She closed her eyes and saw a glyph, remembered the itchy welt on her wrist. Another time and another glyph that wasn't the one she had now.

Later, much later there was bittersweet surrender, head tilted back, her neck burning and wet sounds of feeding. After they found Drake, after he let them claim him as their own, he wanted something she'd only given twice before.

When Drake held her and punctured her skin, and when her blood pumped out and pooled around her collar she remembered Deacon Frost. He was lips, quiet sucking, and finally darkness. His eyes were the bluest she'd ever seen.

She met him once.


End file.
